Does going to a beer festival on a Thursday night seem like a good idea to you? No, me neither. Still we went. After much deliberation on who was going to drive we agreed the best option was to take a taxi and work out how we’d get home afterwards. Seemed to make sense.
The beer festival itself was just what you’d expect. Lots of fat, old bearded men drinking stout while talking about ‘ale’. Hardly any women in sight, and those that were there were… well, you know.
Myself and Paulie consulted our catalogues to decide which of the finest beverages we were going to sample, and by that I mean which had the highest APVs. Sadly the Skullsplitter wasn’t in today, and I thought the beer from the Cwmbran brewary was best avoided. So after sampling brews such as the Firebox and the Old Tom we were well on our way to becoming ‘happy’. You can see from the photos how the ale effected our ability to speak, see and hear.
It shouldn’t have effected our common sense though (he says stupidly) as for some reason we decided to WALK home from Stockport to Manchester. This was over 5 miles, at 2 in the morning. What the sodding hell were we thinking?
I didn’t get to bed ’til about 4:00am, and had to get up for work at 7!
Next year I’m doing what one of the fine patrons we met did this week, and taking the week off. Now that’s dedication to your ale.
